Fixes
by TheWalkingCaryl
Summary: Caryl. No ZA AU. DARK. - Daryl finds Ed Peletier, a new buyer for he and his brother. And then he meets the Mrs and discovers his need for a new kind of fix.
1. Client

**Warnings: Adult Language, Carol/Other (Temp), Drug Use, Sexual Situations, Violence**

This story is heavy. This story is complicated. This story is the product of a very difficult time in my life and this story is the baby born from therapy-writing. Fixing something that is broken is a long and winding road.

Each chapter will eventually have a quote from different Spoken Word poems at the beginning. If you search the source I post on Youtube after them, you will be able to find the source work. Spoken Word holds a special place in my heart, and I encourage anyone to go listen to the people I borrow words from. They are spectacular.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended

_You don't even know what she tastes like _  
_and she will flavor your entire night. _  
_Every other girl will be; Not her. _  
_Every song will sound like; Not her. _  
_Dancing will just be moving around other people who are; _  
_Not her. _  
**_ \- Lily Myers, Zach Goldberg, and Evan Okun - "We Made It"_**

"Come on." Merle barked out as he shoved the pills in between the bottles in the six pack before sliding the pack back inside the grocery bag. He was anxious to go meet their new buyer and as usual when they went to a new client, Daryl was dragging his feet. The boy didn't trust nobody and while Merle respected that on the times that the mistrust had saved them, on days like this it just annoyed the piss out of him.

"I ain't seein' why we both gotta go to this thing." Daryl came into the kitchen, dragging his toe along the edge of the shag carpeting in the living room that was peeling up something fierce. "Its one buyer, shouldn't be nothin' for you to handle all on your own. Then you don't gotta split nothing with me."

"You wanna stay here alone boy?" He arched his eyebrow, seeming amused as he leans forward. "You're the one who found him. You trying to set me up for some kind of sting?" He wasn't seriously asking, Merle knew his little brother better than anyone in the world, he was never anymore lost than the times that Merle found himself in a stint behind bars for any amount of time, he would never turn him in. But some days accusing him of trying was the only way to get a rise out of the younger Dixon boy.

"Just don't like this one. He's... rough." Daryl's eyes flashed a bit and he cleared his throat, looking away. _Like Daddy._ It was the portion that he had left unsaid, but it didn't need saying.

"You worried he's gonna come after you? Ya just gotta be rougher, Darylenna. Ain't nothin' to it." Merle tried to pretend like they weren't royally screwed up by their past. "He looks like he's gonna get rough, then you get rough first. And harder. Only way it is now. This is our meal ticket."

"I ain't scared of him." Daryl's eyes lifted to Merle's, burning into them with the truth of his words. "He's rough but I could take 'im. M'not scared just..." Daryl gestured outward with his hand, his wrist rotating in a couple circles as he reached, trying to pick the right wording out of the air to get out of this meeting tonight. "Just don't wanna... spend time around the guy, is all."

"You find us another buyer to cover him and we'll talk. Till then, you're gonna find a pair a'balls, glue 'em on and get your ass in the car. I'm damn sick of eatin' those wax noodles all the time, gonna earn us enough to feed us somethin' edible for a couple weeks, at least. Till the huntin' goes good again."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya." Daryl grumbled as he tossed on his threadbare coat and shoved his feet inside the hunting boots waiting by the door for him, already feeling the draft sweeping in through the gap in the door as the winter air outside picked up enough to rattle the windows. He felt Merle's hand slap down against his shoulder roughly, giving it a good squeeze, not having to turn to see the shit-eating grin that spread over his brother's face.

"Good boy. 'Sides, gonna be worth it. Ed said his Ol' Lady's gonna have a nice steak dinner waitin' to greet us when we make it over. A warm place to sit an watch the game with a couple bears and a hot steak ain't a bad settin' for the evening now is it?" A chuckle fell off of Merle's lips as he hauled up the bag into his hand and moved to push open the door, leading the way out to Daryl's truck. "You don't even gotta talk ta him, you just be your normal, charming self." Merle laughed at his own joke, shoving his hands in his pockets for warmth. Both men booked it across the yard to the truck.

"His wife's gonna be there?" Daryl finally spoke up again as he fought with the ignition to start up the reluctant engine, punching it several times before it roared to life obediently.

"What? You afraid she'll bite?" Merle smirked, looking over at his brother as he settled back in the passenger seat, lighting up a cigarette and taking a puff.

"Ain't afraid of nothin'." Daryl shot back, looking over at Merle. "You ain't gonna screw us out of this job by screwin' another customer's wife are you?"

"Never can tell with me, can ya baby brother?" Merle was laughing as he shrugged noncommittally. "Ain't gonna promise nothin' till I see the slice." Merle's gaze turned to the road as he lost himself in the enjoyment of his lit cigarette and left Daryl to groan and fall into silent dread over the mess that they were possibly walking into.

A twenty minute drive into town and then over to the far side of it lead them up to Ed Peletier's house and had them standing on the porch, knocking and bouncing around on the balls of their feet as the wind whipped about them, trying to bite at any patches of exposed flesh and chilling them down to the bone, which felt worse from the way that the smoke puffed out of the wood boiler at the back, promising a warmth inside the house - just out of reach as they stood, unanswered and unwelcome into the house.

Merle stepped back as his eyes hit the open door of the wood furnace and he heard the shuffling of feet and the sound of wood being tossed inside to feed the fire. "Ed?" Raising his voice above the howl of the wind, his hands balling into fists and uncurling several times, trying to warm them with movement. "Hey Ed! Asshole, it's cold out here."

The wood furnace door slapped closed and a small figure emerged from behind it. Her pixie-cut hair was a bright auburn color, her nose and cheeks were bright pink from the cold, her boots were worn and her jacket was about five sizes too big for her small frame. She didn't speak as she hurried across the yard, her head dropped against the wind as she rushed to the door, quickly moving to make a wide arc around the Dixon boys to get to the door and push it open. She kept her head bowed a bit as she held it open for them. "Sorry." It was barely a breath as she apologized, a squeak of a noise.

Merle led Daryl inside the door, kicking off his boots and dropping his coat on the floor just inside with a nod at the woman before turning further into the house. "Ed?"

"That bitch finally get the door then?" Ed called from the living room. "Game's started. You assholes are late."

Daryl hesitated, watching the woman step out of her boots and shrug off her coat, hanging it up before picking up Merle's to hang as well. She turned, not looking up to him at all, just standing there waiting. Finally he toed off his boots and took off his jacket, handing it in her direction. He wasn't sure what to say, so he nodded in silence before following in the direction Merle had gone off to.

Merle was already settled down in a second armchair and had a beer in his hand and one out waiting for Daryl. He grinned as Daryl sat down on the couch and shrugged simply. "Okay, I promise now." His nod out towards the kitchen where they saw the silent woman scurrying around to try to put everything together. She wasn't Merle's type.

Merle liked them flirty. Long hair. Big tits. Nice ass. He liked a woman with a fight in her and an easy smile. Merle's type wore short skirts and tall boots with low cut tops. The longer the leg, the better. This woman wasn't Merle's type.

She carried in three beers and froze, seeing the men already all had drinks in hand and she seemed to be at a loss for what to do, shifting from one foot to the other, hesitating before she finally decided that taking them over and laying them on the coffee table wouldn't be a waste, since she could be certain that they would be having more than just the one. Her eyes never lifted higher than their bottles. Mrs. Peletier wasn't Merle's type.

"I got a drink for each hand, but not a damn thing to wash down with them." Ed sneered. "And wash your damn hands, woman. You're covered in soot and we got company."

She didn't speak as she scurried out of the room. The sound of the sink running could be heard from the kitchen and then the clinking of dishes against the counter. Spoons clinking against pans and then plates as food was scraped out. One plate. Two plates. Three plates. Just three. This woman hadn't set aside any for herself. Nothing about her was Merle's type.

Merle and Ed were both shouting at the tv at some call the ref had made when she came back in, carrying all three plates on a serving tray. She almost dropped it at all the noise, but caught herself and closed her eyes with a relieved sigh. She held out Ed's plate first, then Merle's, and finally Daryl's. Daryl was the only who who thanked her and her eyes snapped up to meet his in a bit of surprise, their gazes locking for a moment as it drew on.

"You're welcome. Can I - get you... anything else?" Her voice was almost musical. Soft as it dipped and rose in a quiet, nervous melody. Her eyes held his and his palms went sweaty, a lump in his throat preventing him from doing anything more than shaking his head at her. He watched her nod and then turn to walk away again. He watched her until she disappeared into the hallway.

_Shit_.

This woman wasn't Merle's type. Daryl didn't have a type but as he stared at the tv, seeing nothing but the memory of her soft eyes boring into his, he knew that if he did - she'd be it. She was it.


	2. Hate

**Disclaimer**: I do not own TWD and I write these things for no monetary gain.

_I am a stubborn mess_  
_I am spilled milk and crying about it_  
_I am the captain of an ever-sinking ship._  
**_ -Kait Rokowski "New Insults"_**

Merle grinned as he pulled out the bag with the pills in it and dangled them in front of Ed's line of sight as the halftime show blared in the background. "We only bring the best, my brother and I - we got plenty of satisfied customers left behind us. Would give you a list for references but we got our secrets to keep, sure you get it." He watched Ed's fingers twitch towards the bag.

"I ain't worried about it. You men don't look like you got death wishes to bring less than the best through the door of my own house." His eyes snapped between the two of them. "It may have been awhile since I had myself a fix, but I'm not rookie. I'd know. Told junior here just as much when he offered." Nodding his head towards Daryl in that moment. "But - you'll understand if I need to make sure before handing off that kind of money." His voice trailed off and Merle narrowed his eyes at the bigger man.

"Don't give out free samples, if that's what yer askin'."

Ed's laughter rang through the air as he shook his head and dug out some cash, counting it out before pushing it in Merle's direction. "I believe this covers the cost of one of our little buddies in there?" His eyebrow quirked in Merle's direction. "You take that, give me one, and I'll decide if I think the stash is worth havin' my bitch go get the money out of the safe for the rest."

Merle's gaze drifted down over the pills and the cash, slowly lifting it and counting it to himself before holding the pile out towards Daryl. "Not many men question my integrity and walk away from it." Merle said, not slipping open the baggie yet, edging himself forward in the chair, his gaze locked on Ed's in that moment.

"I imagine that's cause you don't got much of it." Ed shot back with a shrug. "I ain't interested in buying your integrity. Just some of your stash." He nodded back into the baggie in Merle's hand, though his gaze never once left the older Dixon's, completely locked into the moment with him, waiting for his product that he paid for with exaggerated patience.

Daryl knew that he should be paying closer attention to the tense dealings as Merle's backup, but he couldn't help that his focus was on the sound of running water from just down the hall, imagining the way that Mrs. Peletier moved in the shower. Would she be quick and flighty, fidgety, or slow and luxurious as she washed up under the stream of the water? Was she being efficient about it as she scrubbed quickly and thoroughly or would she run her hands down over her body and let hands and fingers linger?

Shit.

Daryl shifted in his seat to do better about hiding his wandering thoughts, reaching for his forth beer to take a long swig before he realized that he should have left it there and tried to afford the woman more time in the shower before her husband would undoubtedly be yelling at her to get them more from the fridge. His gaze refocused in on Merle and he saw his brother's gaze drop down to his lap before he turned to Ed, the slow and amused grin spreading over his face as he nodded and popped open the bag, fishing out a hit before holding it out in Ed's direction.

"You know what? I like you, Ed. Like your spunk." He tossed the pill in Ed's direction and watched as the other man set it on his tongue and pressed it up to the top of his mouth, allowing it to dissolve in place before he took a swig from his last beer to wash it all down, sitting back silently in his chair.

Daryl downed the rest of his beer quickly as he heard the running water cut off from the bathroom and he situated back on the couch more, swallowing hard as he willed his erection to calm while simultaneously hoping that Merle would be smart enough not to do anything stupid like bring it up in front of Ed or his wife, since he had obviously taken notice of it. He'd take the relentless teasing later, but he didn't want to let anything slip in front of their clients.

"You uh - you got a bathroom?" He finally spoke up, his eyes on Ed. Ed didn't speak, his eyes closed as he leaned back against the back of his chair, keeping himself calmed as he waited for the high to really hit him. His hand gestured to the hallway and Daryl sighed, standing up quickly and turning to walk out of the room quickly. If the hard on wouldn't calm on it's own, then he was going to have to rub one out now to get it under control and be able to pull off something semi-professional and be able to be certain he would have his brother's back if something went wrong in the rest of the buy.

"What are you doing?" The quiet melodic tones of her body paused him in his actions and he froze, looking up at her as she stood there, wrapped in a towel, hair still dripping water droplets down over her cheeks, he watched them glide down her neck, slip over her shoulders. He saw droplets dancing their way down her long arms as she hugged the towel close, others nestled themselves inside the slight gap of her towel, in between the crevice of her breasts. "Dixon." Her voice was a bit harder and his head jerked up to meet her eyes, seeing steel. "What. Are you doing?"

"Bathroom." He choked out against the sandpaper in his throat, trying to subtly adjust his pants, but he was no good at this and he only managed to draw her attention down to the way that his tattered jeans tented in the most painfully obvious way. He saw the look that clouded her eyes for a moment before she planted her feet more solidly on the ground and she looked up at him, shaking her head. "Ed-"

"I know who you are." She interrupted him, stepping closer, tucking the towel closer about her own body, shaking her head slowly. "I know what you've done. I hate you, Daryl Dixon." There was such venom in the soft cadence of her voice that it felt like he could taste the charge in the air between them.

Daryl frowned in that moment. Most people knew Merle and his brother's reputation kept the people willing to associate with the brothers minimal, but it was rare for someone to even consider Daryl himself. He was an afterthought - Merle's baby brother - that was his only reputation. "I ain't done -"

"Michonne." Her single word - that name - stopped him in his tracks and the color drained out of him completely. The erection wasn't a problem anymore as it softened instantly and his hands reached behind himself to find purchase on the wall, taking a step back as if the little slip of the woman was actually intimidating to him. His eyes glossed over a bit and he saw the tears in the corner of her own. "Michonne was my best friend. And I swear to God... you will suffer, Daryl Dixon. Suffer ten times the pain that you caused her. You will pay for the part you played in her death." Carol didn't speak anymore before turning on her heel and walking out of the hallway and slipping into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Daryl couldn't breathe as the world spun around him, his back pressed tightly against the wall and he slid down the length of it, his eyes pinning closed and the images came flying back to him. The memories were suffocating and he felt himself slipping back down into one of his anxiety attacks, his hands pressing tightly against his temples as he curled himself up tightly over his knees, his eyes buttoned shut as he willed the earth to swallow him whole.


	3. Guilt

**Warning****: **Talk of character deaths in more detail. Including child death.

_I think a lot about killing myself_  
_Not like a point on a map_  
_But rather like a glowing exit sign_  
_At a show that's never been quite bad enough_  
_To make me want to leave. _  
**_ \- Neil Hilborn "The Future"_**

They were well into the fourth quarter of the game before Daryl had calmed his body and trained himself to breathe calmly and made it back out to the couch to sit stoically at his brother's side. Merle kept hitting his side, but Daryl just shook his head and focused his energy on the last few sips of his beer. Ed was enjoying his high too much to care about much else and when the man called for Carol to bring him the cash to pay for the rest of the pills that Merle brought along for him, Daryl excused himself to go outside and have a smoke.

Her blue eyes were burned into his memory. The shock. The steel. The fire. Her movements were small and flitting and quick, and her eyes held the weight of a thousand emotions. He breathed in the nicotine, feeling the way that it reached throughout his body, touching the tensed muscles and releasing them in the only way they knew how to relax. The familiar fire filled his lungs and he closed his eyes, leaning his back against the exterior wall of the house, listening for Merle's familiar footfalls, eager for his brother to be ready to leave finally. He would not be able to calm down until they were far away from this house. He needed something stronger to drink.

Merle came out of the house finally and Daryl booked it to his truck, slamming the door to get in as he punched it to life again, his eyes glued on the steering wheel.

"What's got your panties in a twist there?" Merle lazily climbed into the truck, chuckling to himself as he dug in his pocket to pull out a smoke to light up, his eyes tauntingly on his little brother. "You go out to find the missus fresh out of the shower and she turn ya down? Mehbe ya got a little too excited an' made a mess of yerself 'fore ya even tried somethin?" He was laughing as he spoke, taking a drag off of the cigarette between his fingers.

"Shut up Merle." Daryl didn't look up as he tried to calm the shaking in his hands before slamming the truck in reverse. "We're done with them. Ain't doin' no more business with the Peletiers."

"Bullshit, we ain't." Merle glared at Daryl, reaching over to punch his shoulder roughly, causing the truck to jump to the side a bit with the way it jerked Daryl's arm until he caught himself and righted the truck again. "Guy likes what we got an we ain't got the luxury of pickin' and choosin'."

"They knew Michonne." He said. "Wife... she said - she said she knew about me... my part in the whole thing. Could be a set up. Revenge." Daryl kept his eyes forward, knuckles turning white as he clutched the steering wheel.

"Michonne? Michonne... Mi-shonne..." Merle worked over the name several times and never once seemed to touch base or catch any sense of recognition to him.

"Michonne." Daryl grabbed a book off of the dash and threw it at his brother roughly, chancing a look away from the road to glare at Merle. "Mike's girl, Michonne." Growling as Merle still looked confused. "Black Beauty."

"Ahhhhh. Mi-shonne." Recognition hit Merle and he grinned to himself nodding. "The beaut herself... forgot about her completely there for awhile." Sitting back against the bench seat. "That woman had herself some fight in her. Wish that I woulda got a chance to ride that ass. Such a waste-"

"Shut it." Daryl growled, eyes focused on the road, shaking his head. "This is serious, Merle. That woman is angry. Michonne was her best friend and she hates us because she's dead."

"That were years ago, Daryleena an it was her own fault. Don't make no sense ta be mad at no one but Black Beauty for that one. Ain't like ya stuck the gun in her hand and helped her pull the trigger." Merle's eyes darkened a bit. He may have taken some prodding in remembering Michonne by her name, but he made no qualms about his feelings on suicide and anyone who committed it. "Damn woman painted her own brains 'cross the wall, we didn't never touch her."

"That doesn't mean it isn't my fault." Daryl cut in quietly, shifting in his seat with a sigh. "I was the one who sold to him that time... when you was in the clink. He ain't never done nothin' like that any times that you was there... it was somethin' about the set I took 'im or somethin'. It was -" Daryl's voice trailed off, his shoulders slumping a bit more, taking on the weight once again as if it were a fresh guilt once more. He had almost turned himself in during the trial as the supplier, and they hadn't even been really looking for him. Luckily Merle had gotten out just in time to stop him.

"Yeah." Merle twisted to look at Daryl, his own eyes narrowing at his brother and taking in his state of mind. "You went to a meeting with a regular customer and sold him the same pills I always sold him. Then you left it in his hand and went home. You ain't the one who left 'em on the table for her little brat ta get into."

"_Andre_." Daryl whispered, more to himself than to Merle, feeling the way he shook and he had to finally pull off to the side of the road to keep from crashing. Daryl heard the way that Merle cursed under his breath before he climbed out of the car and crossed over to push open the driver's seat.

"Get over there and find yer tampons an stick one in, pussy." Merle shoved Daryl across the bench seat before taking over the wheel, annoyed. "Ain't on you, that boy's dead. Happens. Get over it. Ed don't give two shits and that's all that matters. His ol' lady ain't gonna do nothin' about it, an we're not givin' up a good sure sale over some misplaced anger or guilt. She becomes a problem, we deal with it. Till then, you just shut it and deal."

Daryl didn't speak, feeling his chest tighten again as he shook his head, slipping across the bench seat and reaching down to cling to the material of the torn out knees of his jeans as his brother absolved him of the sins against the young family, but the memories filtered through his mind. The picture of the little boy - just three years old - filling up a quarter of a page of the newspaper as his story took up the rest of the page. The boy with the dark skin, wide grin, and smiling eyes was just - gone. His Daddy had taken a pill and passed out on the couch, leaving the baggie open on the table and he had woken up from his nap and climbed up on the table and emptied out the rest of them.

Michonne, his mama, had come home to find her fiance still passed out, and her little boy lying on the floor in the kitchen, already dead from the overdose. The woman had sat silently through court as Mike went away for possession and criminal negligence and manslaughter. The day he was booked, she had gone home and without changing out of her court clothes, she stuck a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. He remembered reading in the paper about how a friend had shown up with some supper for her and found her that way, hours later.

_A friend_.

Cobalt eyes that had taken in the sight of a dear friend cut down completely and reached for the blame towards the only person who had a hand in the death and had gotten no kind of punishment for it, seemed to go completely unnoticed by everyone else. She saw. She blamed him. Merle absolved him of his sins so much that eventually the anxiety attacks and nightmares had dulled down completely. Daryl had let himself stop thinking about it. But now - this woman knew. She hated him almost as much as he hated himself, he had seen it in her eyes.

And God, how he needed more of that.


	4. Dreams

_Almost held failed potential_

_That it represented our ability _  
_To be just not good enough_  
_That we had come to the brink _  
_Of something beautiful so many times_  
_That we crafted a word for it. _  
**_ \- Bianca Phipps "Almosts"_**

It was disgusting. Her husband had invited that monster into her house and while she tried to throw herself into taking are of things without thinking about it, but then he had looked her in the eyes and thanked her. Their eyes met and she felt a surge of something she hadn't felt in a long time and that thought had made her want to throw up. She couldn't allow herself to forget what had happened and who the man with the misplaced manners truly was. Merle Dixon made no apologies for the man that he had become, and even Merle Dixon had not been as stupid and irresponsible as his younger brother had been. And the man had never once paid his respects or went to Michonne to apologize for breaking regular protocol with Mike. The setup Merle and Michonne had for years had worked, and with one sale from the reckless brother the worst of bad nightmares had come true.

That was on him.

Carol had stood in the shower, trying to scrub away the feelings that had risen in her and raised up over her skin when their eyes had met. She felt dirty in a way that disgusted her like nothing else ever had in her life. This was the man who had set up the environment - the idiot who had caused the death of her godson and her best friend. She didn't even allow her hands to ghost across her chest or vagina. She didn't allow her hands to ease up, rubbing the washcloth against her arms, stomach and legs as roughly as she could until the skin was red and raw and she felt nothing but the pain from the contact burn and the searing hot water stinging at her now-sensitive skin. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, thinking about times sitting at the park with a cup of coffee and Michonne as Andre darted here there and everywhere with any new child that he could find to play with at the park. Laughter and lightness in her life as her only escape from the hell at home.

Michonne's limp body laid out on the ground, curved over the gun as she sat in the spot on the floor where she had found her little boy that night. Everything was red and there were these abnormal chunks splayed all over the place. The smell of the meatloaf had been strong wafting up to her nose from its place in her arms and tying itself with the image of the body so completely that she couldn't even walk into a place that sold it without having a complete breakdown anymore. Ed making a request for meatloaf always ended up with her being beaten unconscious and him settling for takeout for the night when she refused. Meatloaf had been a specialty of hers, and now it was painted in pain and death and blood and brain splatter. It wasn't pretty like the movies, a soft montage and a couple hugs couldn't heal the damage left behind by the sight. Even Ed had tried that method in the week after Michonne's death. But Michonne was gone, and nothing would ever make that better.

So she had left the shower and found him outside the door and lit into him. She left him behind and went to her bedroom and sobbed herself into a fitful and restless sleep.

_"Carol Peletier, don't make me drag you to the bathroom and clean your mouth out with soap." Michonne laughed, her eyes sparkling as she took another sip out of her wine glass, enjoying their freedom for a much-needed girls night after Ed had announced to Carol that she needed to be out of the house for the rest of the night because he was having the guys over to a poker night. Of course they both knew that by 'the guys' he meant some busty blonde from a bar or that he met through work and by 'poker night' he meant 'poke-her-tonight' but Carol didn't care and Michonne made it a point to not pester Carol too much about things like this anymore. Carol had enough of being bossed around and having her arm twisted into things, Michonne was just there to catch her when she fell apart and to put her back together again and to offer the look of 'you know what you should be doing, I shouldn't have to say it girl' when the moment called for it. _

_"You can drop the mommy mode now, Mich." Carol laughed, shrugging her shoulder. "I'm serious. I just - don't see the appeal." _

_"The Beatles are a national treasure." Michonne picked up a french fry and jabbed it in Carol's direction, making her point as she ticked her head back and forth. _

_"International treasure, you mean?" Carol teased, raising an eyebrow at the other woman as she reached over the table and fished a fry off of her plate and swirled it in ketchup before popping it in her mouth, offering a smile her way with a slight chuckle at the way that Michonne just rolled her eyes and grabbed a couple more fries and tossed them across the table at Carol, causing a couple patrons and the waiter to all turn a look on them. Michonne broke off into a fit of laughter. _

_"Seriously, Carol. If you don't love the Beatles, than you are basically just letting the terrorists win." _

_"Michonne!" Carol reached over and slapped her arm, pulling back the flute glass of wine with her arm as she did. "You can't say that. I'm cutting you off." She tossed back the rest of Michonne's drink for the other woman before drinking the rest of her own so Michonne couldn't take it in retaliation. _

_"I can-" Michonne's phone beeped and she held up a finger with a heavy sigh. "-hold on." _

_"That isn't your text tone." Carol stated simply, tucking her arms about herself as she watched Michonne's eyes scan the phone before she pulled back and dug through her purse to set some cash on the table. "What's going on?" Concern etched over Carol's face in that moment as she watched Michonne packing up to leave._

_"It's Dixon's tone, so I know to check it, even if I'm not taking calls or messages at the time." Michonne smiled tightly and looked up at Carol with a nod. "Looks like girl's night is over, sorry." _

_"I'm gonna get a complex if you leave me every time that Merle Dixon shoots you a text." Carol nodded, reaching in her wallet to pull out some cash to leave behind on the table as well to cover her half of the bill and the tip. "Come on, we'll split a cab and I'll see you home." _

_"Thanks." Michonne hugged her purse close as they exited the restaurant. "Glad it happened now, instead of after we already bought tickets to the movie and wasted the cash. I'm gonna kill Mike." _

_"No you're not." Carol reached out to take Michonne's hand in her own, lightly squeezing it. "You give Andre extra hugs and kisses from Aunt Carol. Call me if you need any help."_

_"Help killing Mike?" Michonne perked up playfully as a cab pulled to the side of the road and both women laughed as they moved to slip inside and give directions to Michonne's house. _

_"Yeah. Call me if you need any help moving the body after it's done. I'll be there." Carol fished out the cash from her wallet to pass up a wad of cash to the cab driver, hearing a low groan next to her. "Mich are you-" She twisted around and screamed, scrambling off of the seat in the cab as she looked back into Michonne's glassy eyes, a good chunk of her head was missing completely, blown off, and her hand was reaching in Carol's direction, grasping. The only sound she made was a rasping, groaning noise. Skin was peeling from her face, dropping to the seat between them as she slid forward to reach for Carol, moving into her space with a snarl. Air swirled around Carol, the smell of meatloaf overtook her as she tried to push further away._

Carol jolted awake from her nap, coated in sweat, breathing ragged and panicked as her hand pressed tightly against her chest, her eyes squeezing shut to try to push aside the thought of her friend's mangled body, a sob crawling up her throat as she moved to curl into herself more on the bed, her hand closing tightly on the comforter underneath her body as her entire body shook with the power of her sobs, biting into her pillow.

Daryl Dixon had to pay.


	5. Fire

This one caused me some issues and a couple more rewrites than usual, but our journey is dark. Carol is hurting and angry and she is posssibly just as messed up and wrecked as Daryl is, but she isn't acknowledging it. We're building to a big catalyst moment, but we have to wade through this first.

_Broken knuckles_  
_Knocked out teeth_  
_Jetting rivers_  
_Scars on the map of jawbone_  
_Are real here._  
_When the neighborhood labels your blood; Beast_  
_Don't take it personally_  
_Crochet_  
_Bake cookies_  
_Fly a kite_  
**_ \- Desireé Dallagiacomo "Notes on Loving a Five-Time Felon"_**

Carol finished loading up the nachos that she was fixing for the football game, the fridge stocked with beers as she fluttered around the kitchen, working to set up everything that Ed had demanded for his night with the Dixon boys again, another game to be spent with them. She hadn't been as upset this time when he told her his plans for the night, she had been ready.

She set the oven timer as she slipped the nachos in to cook and then moved to the box sitting out on the table, gaze scanning around and finding the spot across the wall from the door, the first thing the eye was drawn to when they entered. She crossed to take down the 'Bless this home' sign that took the space and replaced it with the first of the frames from her box, walking over to set the sign on the door and digging through the rest of the box with another sigh. as she pulled out several different frames, looking towards the living room as she hugged them close, counting on Ed's indifference not to notice the changes in the house before the brothers showed up for the game.

She flitted about the living room, working to be sure that she covered every angle that a person could turn in without overloading the room, never putting anything up where there wasn't something she could take down, making sure that the room wasn't more cluttered and risk putting too much emphasis on the changes of the room. She carried the old directions back to the box in the kitchen and stashed them away before carrying it back up to the attic to store it away.

Slipping into her bedroom she gently peeled her clothes away from her body and turned to slip into the thick sleep pants and searching out a sweatshirt to slip into, making sure that she was dressed in the least appealing clothes that she could find, if she didn't feel good about herself than she wouldn't be inclined to notice or feel good about the monsters that came through her door tonight either.

Ed was home first and he just moved in and plopped down in his seat, calling for a beer, despite the fact that he had passed the refrigerator on his way into the living room. She rolled her eyes and turned off the oven before crossing to grab a beer for her husband, carrying it in and handing it off to him.

"Hey." His voice was rough around the edges and annoyed and she froze in place, fear rising like bile in the back of her throat as she wondered if he happened to notice one of the pictures she had switched out just above the television screen. Slowly she twisted around to face him, trying to force a smile to pain over her face.

"Ed?"

"I ain't gonna be able to drink it like this." He held up the bottle that still had the cap on it and she cleared her throat, nodding her head silently and rushing across the room to grab his bottle opener and bring it back to hand off to him. "There." He dismissed her with a nod, flipping the screen on and searching out the game. "Stop messin' with the tv during the day." He was annoyed that it wasn't waiting on the sports channel for him and she decided against reminding him that he had been the one watching the weather channel this morning. "You got time to watch, you're letting too much around here slide. Now go feed the damn fire. Fuckin' ice box in here."

The sound of an engine approached outside and Carol nodded softly before rushing out towards the door to open it for the Dixon brothers, taking a look around the kitchen again before she reached to shrug on Ed's winter jacket, since he still couldn't be bothered to go out and replace the one that had been 'lost' during an argument they had out by the furnace about her wasting too much of his hard earned money on wood - after sending her out to feed the fire. She shook herself out of her musings as the door rattled with the knock before she was almost taken out completely by the swinging door as Merle Dixon didn't bother waiting for it to be opened up to him - sweeping inside like he owned the place.

She jumped back, one boot on, one boot off, jacket practically swallowing her tiny frame up completely and she winced at the grin that spread over his face with an exaggerated tip of his head in her direction. "Afternoon Mousey. Man of the house in?" Merle didn't wait for an answer before he kicked off his boots and dropped his coat, headed back towards the sound of the game, making himself quite at home on only his second visit.

Daryl was there. She didn't spot him until she was scooping up Merle's coat and nudging his boots towards the rubber mat, but he was standing in the doorway, his eyes glued to the opposite wall, wide and dark. His breathing was slow and labored and he looked about ready to collapse into a panic attack or something and Carol had to breathe in slowly through her nose and stand up straighter, telling herself that he didn't deserve an ounce of pity from her. This man couldn't be allowed to just - forget. He had to pay.

"That was my favorite." She chanced the comment, her voice low, but icy, her gaze locked on him. "Best day of my life." She stuffed her foot in her second boot and then shoved at his shoulder to walk past him. "Get in the house and close the door. It's a fucking ice box in there and you're letting out the heat." The door closed behind her and she swiped at her face for tears that she wasn't even able to form anymore as she headed to the back of the house and the woodpile, grateful for a reason to not have to be inside the house in that moment.

Daryl stepped further into the house, not taking off his jacket or boots as he approached the opposite wall, his fingers lifting up to press against the picture frame and he took in the sight of Carol with a wide smile, clutching a beautiful baby boy dressed in white with the winning smile of the boy's mother lit up the image, her arm slung around Carol's shoulders. It looked like it was from a christening. Andre's christening. Michonne's eyes were so - alive - as they shone at him from the picture. The little boy was pudgy and loved, surrounded by the two women who held him on display for the camera like he was the most prized treasure in the world.

_"Carol"_ The voice sounded from behind her, slow and gentle and Carol moved to shake her head, heaving up on another log to throw it in the fire, her chest heaving. _"Carol."_

"Not now, Michonne." Carol whispered, feeling the tears building and the cold bit at her face. The air around her fell silent again, just as it always had been and she closed the wood furnace up, standing there at a loss for what to do now, not ready to go back inside. Her gaze darted around and landed on the truck, her gaze fell on the truck and she hesitated, looking back towards the front door nervously before taking a deep breath and starting towards the truck, her hand lifting up to the back of her neck as she gnawed roughly on her bottom lip, her gaze continuously flicking to the house as if someone was about to come out and catch her as she yanked open the door to slip inside.

Fire. A red hot fire lit up in Daryl's throat and he stumbled towards the kitchen sink, twisting the knob and throwing himself under the stream, his mouth gaping open as he took greedy gulps of the water as it poured over the side of his face. His entire body was trembling intensely as he tried to put out the fire burning him from the inside out. He choked on the stream of water and threw himself back away from the water. He heard voices yelling mutely, but he couldn't pull himself out of the fog to find his way towards them.

Flames licked at every inch of him from the inside, burning up any ropes of control that he had been clinging to in despiration. Puppet strings snapped and he just crumbled to the ground, useless and worthless. He had been responsible for taking the light out of those eyes. A woman - a mother, her baby boy - so innocent and happy. He took them away and he shrunk that woman - the survivor - down to nothing. He had stolen that light and kept himself running. How had he let himself forget what he had done?

"What are you doing?"

Her voice. Daryl's eyes snap towards the door, it is all he can clearly hear now. She almost seems to glow as she stands in the doorway, all pink cheeks and trembling fingers. He reaches a hand towards her absently before pulling them back. He can't touch her. His eyes are tortured by the ghosts held in the picture and he just wanted to disappear. He wants to speak to her, wants to apologize but the words are so heavy that they cant lift from the base of the throat, they're too weak. He is. So he sits on the floor and stares at the one thing in this world that remains in focus.

"You're tracking in the house." Carol crossed over to his side and reached her hand down to grasp his arm and tug on him to bring him to his feet. "You don't get to freak out. You don't get to do this..." Nodding to the floor before she let go of him and walked over to turn off the sink. "You can't slip out of reality. You have to be here. You have to deal." Her voice was cold as she twisted to look at him, narrowing her eyes at him. "You stay."

It was the hardest thing to do - to bite back that attack and swallow it down. He slowly moved up to his feet and shrugged out of his jacket and crossed to hang it up before nudging off his boots and leaving them on the rubber mat, nodding silently as he twisted to look back at her, as if he was waiting for her to tell him what to do next. His body was trembling a bit still with the struggle of holding back his anxiety attack, but he was keeping it down.

"Go join them... Ed and Merle... you go in there and sit and - be present. You notice them... every picture, every memory that they represent. You notice them. You look for them." Carol stepped forward, invading Daryl's space, even though her hands shook slightly as she chanced moving that close to the man and issuing a challenge. She curled her fists at her sides, bracing herself in case he decided to react and lash out, but she knew deep down that he wouldn't. That his older brother would be more likely to have that reaction than this boy. The heat radiated between them and sparks flew as her hand reached down to grasp his wrist in her palm, splaying her fingers out and encircling him there, giving him a tight squeeze.

"Yes." He almost panted the word, pulling his arm free and taking a step back, and then another, their gazes never breaking until he was in the doorway to the living room and he turned around to join his brother and her husband to 'watch the game'.


	6. Candids

Camera snapping  
Eyelids flapping  
The darkest darks  
And the brightest brights  
\- Sarah Kay "Extended Development"

Carol was beautiful in her wedding dress, the simplicity of the material as it swept over her form and bunched at her left side, soft material forming a cluster of flowers over the bunched material. The skirt fell down to the ground beneath her, pooling at her feet clearly stating that at one point she had been wearing heels with it, but they had been abandoned at this point. She had a genuine smile on her face, the shot a candid as she laughed at the joke Michonne was telling her from behind the bridal bouquet in the maid-of-honor's hand. Her dress was silky and blue and it fell just right in all the right places, nothing about the dress was a traditional 'make-the-girls-look-worse-so-the-bride-looks-better' bridesmaid dress. The beauty of the second woman only seemed to enhance the beauty of the first as they stood together as one unit. Laughter and happiness. Her eyes sparkled with the secret joke the friends were sharing.

Another Carol was twirling long auburn curls around her fingers, her gaze focused solely at the woman at her side who was wildly gesturing to get across the meaning of some story that they were both very invested in. Carol's face was bunched up in complete concentration and Michonne looked as if she was holding back her own laughter. Another candid.

A third pair held a different type of image. The Carol there had makeup caked on that darkened in a suspicious pattern against her cheek and her face was dark under a painted on smile that didn't reach her eyes. She wore laser tag gear with the gun tightly pressed into her hand, lifted to the side as she looked to the camera. The Michonne at her back was wearing her own gear slightly awkwardly around the growing baby bump under her, gun clutched tightly in her own hand, the muscles in her arms were well-defined and the glower on her face was not disguising her inner rage in any way as she leveled the camera with a glare, anger radiating off her and she looked as if she was wishing the gun in her hand would shoot off more than a little beam of light. She looked dangerous. In that moment - they both did.

The fourth Michonne was in a hospital gown, looking much worse for the wear with an exhausted smile on her face, holding a tiny bundle in her arms and her gaze was solely focused on the little bundle in the blue blanket. There is a calmness to the woman's face that he doesn't see in any of the other pictures that he's seen. Her mouth is pressed closed, a hairpin curl to the side of her mouth and her body is curled in, shoulders bunched forward, creating a protective shell over the little boy in her arms. It was protective, everything about the form the two of them made in the image spoke volumes about the love the woman felt. She wanted to protect him from all of the dangers in the world, she was poised to be the barrier that would keep him away from any and all harm that could come at him.

Merle smacked his shoulder, said something about the game or pills or something and Daryl hummed and nodded along where he felt that Merle was asking for him to nod along to. Ed was already two pills in and the man was all but asleep slumped back in his chair, his gaze lazily following the path of the football across the screen without seeming to even notice that there were others in the room - much less the fact that they were helping themselves to all of his beer and eating the full plate of nachos that Carol had made for them.

The fourth Carol was taking up another frame with a second Andre, sitting in the children's section of the library, curled up and reading that book about the train that went up the big hill. Carol's face was bright, her lips curled into an exaggerated 'o' shape as she narrated the tiny engine up the hill, bringing it over the top of the insurmountable odds to a joyful victory and Andre's gaze was locked on the book, both of his hands lifted up in triumph in a cheer that was clearly too loud for the setting, but there didn't seem to be a sense of regret or admonition in the picture posted on the wall. They were just - happy. It was a moment. And it was gone.

All of the moments were gone.

"Hungry?" Her voice was low and uninterested in that particular answer as she crossed the living room and settled the plates with cold cut sandwiches in front of each of the three men. Her eyes never lifted to Ed or Merle, but as she stopped in front of Daryl her gaze flicked up to meet his eyes, locked and lingering in that moment, studying him. Waiting.

"Starved." He choked out finally, answering the question in her eyes rather than the one off of her lips, ignoring the fact that Merle's voice was prattling on in the background. Daryl couldn't hear a word that his brother was saying, feeling like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He wanted to cry after taking in the sight of all of the pictures around them. He might have cried if the fire inside of his body hadn't dried him out completely. Words weren't an option with Merle standing so close and ready to strike out at any mention of something real, but he had the look that he could give her. Dry and cracked, but it was something and it was all that he had.

She nodded in his direction, once and slowly before she started to back away the slightest bit. "Good." Carol straightened her body before she turned, nearly running back towards her bedroom, leaving him behind in the living room with Merle.

"Come on." Merle muttered, watching the way that Carol moved, looking up and glancing around the room in a swift once over before he twisted back to Daryl, his features hardening once more in that moment. She hadn't been a mouse with Daryl. She wasn't being a mouse and that made her a threat.

"Game ain't over." Daryl tried in a feeble voice, gesturing towards the tv and then towards the sandwich that Merle hadn't touched yet. Merle practically growled at him as he stood up and grabbed at Daryl's arm, yanking him up and to his feet.

"It is. Game's fucking over baby brother." His glare followed the hallway back towards the tiny woman who had escaped just before them.

Panic rose in his chest and he knew that Merle was about to go find the woman so he quickly nodded and grabbed his arm back, because he needed to drag his brother out of the house before he followed his gut instinct and went after her. He needed to keep her safe from Merle Dixon while she worked through her shit. He would keep her safe from Merle. "Game's over." He agreed quietly, quickly leaving the living room to find his shoes and his jacket, counting on Merle to follow, listening closely for any signs of his brother going down the hallway, relieved when he saw Merle coming around the corner to shove his feet in his boots, pressing the wad of cash that Ed had paid him in his back pocket, neither brother speaking as they got ready to leave.

Carol listened to the shuffling in the living room, pacing in the hallway a bit as the sounds moved away. Quicker than she expected them to leave. Carol didn't feel like she could breathe through the thickness in the air and she moved to the window of the far edge of the room to wrench it open and gasp in the fresh air as it swept into the house in cool gusts. The sound of an old truck's engine kicking to life cut through the air and she closed her eyes tightly, nodding against the tears that built up without warning.

_"Why are you crying?"_

"I miss you."

_"More than you did five minutes ago? Bullshit, try again, Carol. Why are you crying?"_

"I'm not." Carol swiped her arm over her eyes, twisting around to lean her back against the wall, her gaze scanning across the hallway, focusing on an empty doorway and nodding there, allowing Michonne to take that spot. That was where she was - where she had to be.

_"I can see you. You're crying."_

"Why are you here?" Carol's voice trembled as she shifted back against the wall, swallowing hard.

_"You need me. I always come for you when you need me."_

"I don't need you." Carol's voice trembled. "I mean - I always do but not right now. Right now I need him."

_"You do need him, don't you?" _That edge. The always there, teasing edge creeping into the air around her.

"Shut up Michonne. It isn't like that." Carol glared at the doorway. "It isn't. He is the jerk who didn't care about the rule. You and Merle, you had a deal and he didn't - that careless, selfish bastard didn't hold up the deal. He broke it and he ruined everything. Everything is gone." Carol trembled, slowly moving to slide down the wall.

_"Carol-"_

"Everything is gone, Mich." Her voice trembled, her hands shoving roughly through her hair. "Everything. You're not here. You're gone. You're not here." The silence caused a burning ache to ram through her chest, taking her breath. Her gaze lifted to the empty doorway and then scanned the hallway once more, her head falling back against the wall with another heavy sigh as her arms wrapped about her knees, pulling them tightly up against her chest. "Everything's gone."

Daryl had practically run to the truck and he went straight for the passenger seat and climbed in, which annoyed Merle endlessly and almost sent him back inside the house to deal with the problem right then and there. He ran his hand over his hair before he pushed towards the truck, ripping open the door and sliding in, slamming it shut behind him. "Man. Hope I ain't too shit-faced ta make it home." Merle punched the truck to life, turning a glare on Daryl and watching the way that his brother's body wilted in the seat next to him, his fist clenched tightly shut around something, a small chain hanging out of his hand. "What?"

"Drive." He choked out the word, the small pendant burning a mark into his hand. It had been hanging from the rear view mirror when he slipped in the car and his eyes found it instantly, reaching to take it down and it had been open. The image was Andre wrapped in the same hospital blanket that he was in for that first picture. The inscription on the opposite side of the locket stated 'Best Godmother Ever'. Those tiny eyes were open and staring out from the small photo and even when he closed his fist on it and effectively closed it - those tiny eyes were all that he could see.

They were gone because of him. Just - gone.


	7. Fight

Disclaimer: I do not own any piece or part of TWD. This is my therapy.

_My depression is a shape shifter_  
_One day it is as small as a firefly _  
_In the palm of a bear_  
_The next its the bear._  
_On those days I play dead _  
_until the bear leaves me alone. _  
**_ \- Sabrina Benaim "Explaining My Depression to My Mother"_**

_Daryl shifted anxiously on his feet, his eyes darting around in the hallway as he waited for the man to come answer his knocks. He had gotten the call from Mike about half an hour ago and it had taken him awhile to get everything together and in order. He had never even gone along with Merle to a drop off before and suddenly it was all on him. He felt his stomach twisting and turning with nerves and a need to run the other direction, but if he didn't make this sale, he wouldn't be able to post bail for Merle and then he would be left all on his own for even longer. He needed to get Merle out so he could learn the tricks of the trade or at least find some way to take care of himself should the case go south, as things often did for the Dixons._

_Mike answered the door, peeking out and frowning. "Where's Merle?" The man was shaking and it was obvious that he was in need of a fix fast. Daryl only had Merle to go on, but Merle had gone into withdrawal enough for Daryl to instantly pick up on the signs of it when he spotted them. It made his blood boil, but he had to push the feeling aside. What this man decided to do with his life was none of his business. It couldn't be his responsibility. If Daryl wasn't selling to him, he'd find another supplier and all that would achieve was Daryl and his own going without. He couldn't take it personally. Merle didn't take responsibility. Daryl tightened his jaw and nodded, slipping in through the open door. _

_"Merle got himself in trouble. Don't worry, I got your stuff." He pulled the baggie out to display the pills he had counted out and put inside. "You didn't say how much you wanted. That gonna be enough?" It was just barely enough that it should cover the rest of Merle's bail, he wasn't sure how much he was supposed to bring, but he felt certain that it was less than he usually saw Merle packing up for people. He was just worried with the way that Mike was looking that he might get himself into a fight for not bringing enough to get Mike to his next score._

_The man looked at the baggie, his gaze darting over the pills, fingers dancing over the surface and counting them twice over before he nodded, shifting to toss it to the table. "Let me get the cash. Yeah." His voice held such trembling excitement as he raced back towards another room, his eyes wide and wild and excited for the coming high as Daryl shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He could do this. Yeah, it wasn't his first choice of occupation, but it brought in the cash and he could do it. He wasn't a total screw-up._

"Breathe. Daryl, breathe." Merle's voice was low and focused as he kept his eyes on the road as he saw Daryl curling himself up on the other side of the truck cab, his hands pressing to either side of his head, his breathing erratic and frantic. The chain of the locket still dangled from his hand, swinging back and forth with the way that his body trembled as the truck barreled over the weather-worn roads. "Daryl Dixon. Stop your pussy ass sob fest and breathe, dammit. You a Dixon or ain't ya?" Still nothing. No words from his brother. Daryl was sitting there, completely losing himself in horrors, curled up in the passenger seat of his own truck. Merle punched the dash roughly, pulling off to the side of the road and jumping out of the truck without bothering to cut the engine.

He marched around the truck before he yanked the door open, reaching for his younger brother and pulling him as roughly as he could from his spot on the seat, watching as he fell out, barely catching himself from falling on his face. "Fight." He yelled in Daryl's face as he pulled back and smacked a punch against his brother's face, watching him stumble back under the weight of it, but he didn't try to shove back. "Fight." Louder, angrier, as he stepped forward and grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward and into another punch, this one knocked him on his ass completely and Daryl didn't look like he hardly registered an attack at all. "Dammit, why the hell ain't ya gonna fight?" He moved to step backwards and then forward to kick his brother in the gut, but Daryl just caved forward, his arms falling against the road as he leaned in and closed his eyes silently against the pain.

"Get up." Merle growled the words, yanking his brother by the hair and hauling him up to his feet, dragging him to the back of the truck and lowering the tailgate to practically pick him up and shove him back onto the truck bed. "Yer gonna ride in the back like the damn bitch you is, then." Merle slammed the tailgate shut once again before he stomped back to the front of the truck and peeled out and drove like a mad man back to their trailer, his breathing heavy and he felt his sanity slipping. This bitch was going to pay for what she was doing to his brother. He couldn't let Daryl slip back into this level of depression again. He'd lose him for sure this way - one way or another - and no amount of feeling guilty over the way that things had gone was going to excuse this woman. He didn't owe her shit.

Merle didn't owe her shit.

Carol grabbed at another log and took a deep, steadying breath before she heaved up on it and grasped it tightly to herself as she crossed over to throw it into the open door and the waiting fire. As the flames took to the new wood she quickly slammed the small door closed and backed away, her eyes shutting up tightly as she stumbled back to the stack of the wood behind her, sitting down hard and feeling the way that the log shifted under her weight. It was unstable and unsafe to perch herself on, but she didn't care, everything in her life seemed to tremble this way. At least it was something that made sense in her life, offering continuity to everything else that she lived. She wasn't afraid of how dark the world could be, she didn't have anything left to lose.

The sound of an engine roared close by and her head turned up to see a motorcycle pull into her yard and watched the angry and imposing figure of Merle Dixon climb off of the back of it, his eyes finding her instantly and there was a fire in his eyes. Carol did not like Merle Dixon but she didn't hate him. Merle Dixon had kept Andre safe, he had worked with Michonne for so long to protect her little boy from the man that she loved but couldn't trust to make the adult decisions that a father should be able to make. Sure, he had taken extra from Michonne for a payment for their arrangements, but he always held up his end of the deal and that worked for Michonne, so it worked for Carol.

"Mousy." His growl was dangerous as he came closer to her, making a beeline for the woman.

"This isn't about you, Merle. Has nothing to do with you." She called out to him as he approached, standing up from the logs as he came closer. He still towered over her, but his presence wasn't as intimidating as it would have felt if she had kept herself seated.

"Bullshit it ain't. You deal with this on yer own an' you leave Daryl out of it, ya hear me?" He jabbed his finger into Carol's chest. "Daryl Dixon's only thing I got in this world and I ain't gonna let ya take 'im from me. Did a lot of fuckin' work ta keep 'im above water when it happened. You ain't undoin' it all now. I ain't lettin' you." He stepped forward, his hand lifting up and his thumb pressed against the hollow of her throat as he spoke. "You ain't much to silence, no matter how loud you wanna try ta practice yer roarin' on him."

"There are consequences to every action, Merle Dixon." Her eyes locked on the motorcycle that he had come into her yard on this time around, fighting to speak around the pressure he put on her throat and the fear it sent coursing throughout the rest of her body. "He got selfish. He broke the deal. You all knew full well that Mike couldn't be trusted with that kind of stash, but he left it there anyways. He-"

"Ain't on him." Merle's voice dropped low as his hand lifted to grasp at the wisps of curls around the top of her pixie cut, yanking back to force her head back and force her to look into his eyes. "Daryl ain't the one who screwed up the deal." His voice was low as he spoke, keeping his eyes locked on Carol's, his gaze nearly black as they bore into hers. He invaded her soul and reached around to her reality, twisting it until it didn't resemble what she was used to. What it had been molded into years ago.

"You were in prison." He wasn't going to convince her otherwise, she remembered everything about that time in their lives. She couldn't forget. She tried to reach back and reshape that reality into what it had always been. Fixing it.

"Yeah. I went to prison. Daryl hadn't never sold before, I left him a note with the addresses and names of all my sales when I knew I'd be goin' away. He had to keep sellin' to keep the cabin, to pay for gas and bills and survive. He had to take over. I left him the list." Merle's voice hitched a bit and his hand tightened on her hair, his other hand reaching to grasp her arm painfully tight.

"You left him a list..." Leading him for more, listening to his story as that look took over his gaze, ignoring the way her skin and scalp burned in pain under his touch. She held the clay of reality back out to him to allow him to add his own molding to it as he offered her information that was just too pained to be made up.

"I didn't put shit for details on that list. I put the price. I put the price. Didn't leave 'chonne's number. Didn't leave instructions for him to call her after or -" Merle voice caught again and he had to let go of Carol to take a step back away from her, releasing his hands from her, holding both of them in the air between them. "I didn't tell him Mike could only be left with one fix at a time. Didn't tell him that was the deal we had with her. I didn't tell him that Mike wasn't trusted with a stash around his kid... didn't tell him there was a kid to worry about. I just told him where to find Mike to sell to him. And how much it cost." Merle lowered his voice with a shrug. "He sold the pills and posted my bail."

"He didn't know...? He didn't - it was - Daryl didn't..." Carol couldn't breathe and she stumbled forwards towards Merle again as his hand loosened on her hair. "Daryl hadn't..."

"Never sold before that, no." Merle shook his head again, and she saw the guilt that he had managed to keep buried deep down surface for a moment as he looked her in the eyes and admitted the truth. "He was just doin' what I said. An' I forgot. I forgot to - tell him any of it. I forgot and that boy died, an 'Chonne died. And Daryl almost did too... outta the guilt. Took a hell of a lot to pull him back out." Merle watched the way that the clay altered, crumbling completely and falling around her.

"Daryl..." She repeated again, moving towards the house to lean against the wall, hands flat against the wall. "No... no, he... it was - he sold it to him." Daryl was still to blame. Daryl sold a dangerous drug to a man and a little boy - her godson - and his mother - her best friend - had died. Carol twisted her body away from Merle, trying to catch her breath as her forehead fell hard against the wall, hands grasping and reaching, trying to find purchase on something, but everything felt - off. The world was all wrong. Merle was wrong.

"Daryl sold the drugs to Mike. Mike knew the set up, but he took the full stash without a word of the deal to him. Mike took the full stash and left 'em out while he was high for that little boy to find. Mike did that. 'Chonne knew she couldn't trust the man, but she stayed with him. 'Chonne did that. I left Mike's name with Daryl and told him to call, without none of the details. I did that." Merle stepped towards Carol, pressing himself into her back, his voice low as his head dipped down to her ear. "Got a lot of people to blame here, Mousey. Ain't one of them Daryl. Not one." His hands splayed over her sides and pressed her back towards his own chest before he reached to slip his pocket knife out, flipping it open and lifted it to her throat, his lips to her ear as he spoke. "You leave the boy alone, else next time I show up, we ain't gonna have words. Got it?"

Her soft sobs were Merle's only answer and he nodded before lowering the knife and shoving her roughly against the house before turning back to his bike to leave. Carol was left kneeling in the snow, fingers digging through the cold as it soaked her and chilled her to the bone, numbed her completely, but the pain in her heart raged on as her reality lay in shambles around her.


	8. Triggers

Disclaimer: I don't own TWD.

_There is always more suffering_  
_But only one death_  
_Only death_  
_And what does that even mean _  
_When you've been killed so many times before_  
_**\- Amaris Diaz "Shrapnel"**_

Blurs of words and images surrounded Daryl as his head twisted around, searching for something, anything, that made sense. The only image that came in clearly was the image inside of that locket and it painted every surface that he tried to focus on. His hands splayed out and he reached around him to try to get his bearings. His world was spinning and he flipped his body to the side and felt hard metal pressing to his side. "Merle..." Daryl finally choked out his brother's name, calling for him to try to figure out where he was. Just saying the name took his breath away completely and left him gasping for breath again.

It was cold. That was the sensation that came back first. And dark. Cold and dark and he was looking at stars. Outside? Daryl shifted to heave himself up, his hands roaming along the surface around him to try to get back a semblance of familiarity. His truck. He was in the back of his truck? Daryl frowned deeply as the world slowly began to shift into focus and he realized he was parked outside of their trailer, his clothes were sticking to him, his entire body was sore, and he wasn't entirely certain how long it had been that he had been curled up in his truck bed, but he knew that he was going to hear about it when he made his way back inside. He was a murderer. A useless waste of space. Daryl had been put on this earth to be the devil's favorite plaything. Daryl had never done a good thing in his life, but maybe he could now. Maybe he could bring this woman some peace. Maybe Carol Peletier could help him find his tiny piece of redemption before he died.

Carol. Shit.

"Merle!" Daryl's voice was hoarse as he finally got up the strength to climb out from the back of the truck, practically running to the front door of the trailer, ripping it open and frantically looking around. Merle's chair. The couch. Merle's bedroom. The bathroom. Daryl even checked his bedroom, but he didn't see Merle anywhere. His breathing was ragged and his entire body was shaking as he ran back outside. "Merle!" Desperate and terrified as his gaze darted to the small building that Merle had built as a makeshift garage for the Triumph and he ran to it, pushing open the door and then kicking it roughly as he was greeted with nothing but the tarp that usually covered the bike to protect it from any weather that might leak into the bike's sanctuary. Merle's baby. "Shit!"

Daryl needed to do better. Daryl had to be better than the weak person who collapsed into panic attacks and fell victims to memories at the sight of a trigger. He couldn't have triggers, not around Merle. He needed something else to focus on if he hoped to help her without killing her in the process.

If he hadn't already killed her.

Carol couldn't breathe, her hands running through her hair, grasping it tightly between the gaps in her fingers and giving a firm and strong tug on both hands, tears springing to her eyes quickly as the cold air stung her lungs with each desperate gulp that she took in, her entire body was shaking and trembling as she slumped against the side of the house, the world completely silent around her. Far too silent. Her left heel dug deep into the ground and pushed out forward, pressing her back tightly back into the outer wall of the house, feeling the outline of the sliding pressing a hard line into her back, leaving a pattern behind.

Merle Dixon was a liar. He was protecting his brother. He was lying and that was all there was to it. Merle was lying. He had to be lying because he had to be. Because there was no other option that made sense. Nothing other than the fact that Daryl's only sin was that he sold in the first place. He sold without taking precautions. Precautions that he was too young and nieve and desperate to get his family back to realize even needed to be considered or taken.

_"It's my fault. You know that."_

"Shut up." Carol's voice trembled as she watched the puff of air drifting in front of her face as the words left her body. She couldn't do this now. She wouldn't do this. Now or ever. Michonne was a woman in love and a mother in grief and her best friend and she could not accept the idea that there was fault to leave on her shoulders at all. Carol had failed her. It was Carol's job to convince her that Mike wasn't going to get better and grow up the way that Michonne always said she was waiting for. It was Carol's job to tell Michonne that it only ever gets worse - not better. It was Carol's job to protect them and she would not allow her mind to entertain the idea of any other possibility than that.

Her hand fell to her neck, remembering the warmth of Merle's pocketknife pressed against her throat. His thumb centered on the hollow of her throat. How frail and breakable she felt in his arms. She imagined his hand clenching down on her throat - crushing her windpipe. She imagined the blade slicing across her throat, cutting deep and quick. She imagined all of the things that the man could have done to her. Should have done. It could be so quick and easy and it wouldn't be suicide. It wouldn't be a sin. So easy. She could stop suffering. It could end.

Carol's feel lifted her up and took her into the house as if on autopilot. The television was still on and Ed was snoring from the living room as Carol moved about the kitchen, finding all of the ingredients she needed to start making the last meal she would ever cook, her mind dancing with ideas of ways that she could wake him. Things she could do to incite his rage and push him over the edge. No, it wouldn't be hard. Carol had spent the past five years of her life learning her husband's triggers to try to stay alive. If she flipped enough of them now she could set him off enough to finally die.

She set the oven temperature too high, she tracked the snow and mud into the house, she left her jacket on the floor. She walked around to each picture she had put on the wall and took them down to lay out on the table where he would undoubtedly notice them. She opened every beer left in the house and turned them upside-down in the sink.

The smell of meatloaf filled the air as she stepped into the doorway of the living room again, crossing over to reach down and shake Ed's shoulder. "Ed. Baby... wake up."


End file.
